Hiatus
by dvpdvpdvp
Summary: Writing to fill the space during the Olympics hiatus. Takes place immediately after Happy Endings.
1. Chapter 1

Charlie tried to decide if this was the most guns she had ever had pointed at her at one time. Before she could finish counting, however, she was interrupted.

"You've got some balls barging in here like that. No wonder Sebastian likes you."

Charlie looked at the clan leader sitting in her chair…regal, elegant, strong. She ignored the woman's comment and got straight to the point. She needed Duncan's assistance. Obviously the woman had some history with Monroe and Charlie only hoped that it had ended on good enough terms that she would be willing to help. After explaining the situation, Charlie was beginning to think that whatever had happened between them had ended poorly because Duncan did not seem the least bit concerned.

"So you don't feel the least bit compelled to help?" Charlie was incredulous. "I can pay. Not a lot, but I can get more." She tried to sound convincing, but considering her most recent endeavor to secure some money led to her needing help now, she knew it sounded hollow.

With a chortle, obviously Duncan felt the same way. And she looked bored on top of it.

"Why not?" Charlie was surprised that she managed to say that more like a command and less like a petulant child.

Duncan suddenly focused all her attention to Charlie, looking her directly in her eyes. There was anger there. Not to the degree that Charlie felt threatened, per se, but she knew she hit some sort of nerve. She just didn't know what that nerve was.

"Can you leave us for a moment?" Duncan nonchalantly asked of the room. She stood as her companions filed out, some looking back as if to check to make sure all was truly well. They must have remembered Charlie pulling a gun earlier. Duncan gave a slight nod indicating there was no problem.

Charlie waited for Duncan to respond. And did she.

"You want to know _why_ I don't feel the need to help?" Without waiting for a response to that rhetorical question, Duncan continued on. "Well, first, I'm not willing to risk myself or any of my clan for an outsider. Sebastian could have been a member…he should have joined…but he left instead. If he had joined, you wouldn't have had to ask. We'd have already gotten him out. Second, and I am loathe to admit this, but I actually cared for him. He was strong and passionate and I thought I finally found a partner, an equal. Then, he just up and disappeared. I knew he wasn't faithful. Hell, I wasn't faithful. That wasn't our relationship. But last I heard, he left to meet a woman and then, nothing. He was gone. Based on what I've been told about her description, I'm guessing that woman was you." The accusatory look in Duncan's eyes was intense and Charlie was beginning to rethink her plan to ask Duncan for help.

"Now, don't get me wrong," Duncan continued with a smile, "I don't need a man to get by. I got over Sebastian a long time ago, but I'll be damned if my replacement is going to come on to my turf and _demand_ that I owe him, or her, something."

Charlie thought that this might be a good time to enlighten Duncan on the real events of the evening Jimmy King left New Vegas, but was interrupted.

"Besides, unless I missed something, there is no way that kid could beat Monroe in a fight. He'll be dead inside five minutes."

And then Charlie realized. Duncan didn't know who Connor was. "No he won't."

Duncan looked at her with an expression that fell somewhere between dubious and incredulous. "Does he have some sort of secret ninja powers?" The sarcasm dripping from Duncan's voice was palpable.

"Connor is Monroe's son. There is no way he'll kill his own kid." That got the woman's attention.

Charlie was hoping that she wouldn't have to go into some long, drawn out story...she didn't have time. Fortunately, she didn't have to. Apparently Monroe had shared with her that he had a son who he hoped to find and had even talked about the kid's mother and their history. Charlie realized that it was very likely that Duncan knew more about this part of Monroe's past than she did.

Once Duncan understood the situation, she seemed to reconsider. Charlie decided now would be the right time to clear up the misconceptions of Bass' departure that night. Hopefully making herself seem less of an interloper would make Duncan more willing to help her, or at least more willing to help Monroe. But she didn't want to be too obvious. It was apparent Duncan thought of her past feelings for Monroe to be a weakness, and if one thing Charlie could relate to is the need to not seem like a weak little woman who swoons at the big, strong man.

After getting the full story, Duncan recalled her people back into the room and explained the situation to them. She said this rescue was on a volunteer basis, but Charlie could tell that really, it wasn't. Duncan expected her people to do this, and they did. As her people filed out to do whatever recon they had been assigned, Duncan offered Charlie a drink. A drink she realized she desperately needed.

"He does like you, you know." Duncan announced as she sipped her drink. "Even if you aren't the reason he left, he cares a great deal for you."

Charlie tried to pass it off on her being the niece of his best friend, but Duncan wasn't buying it.

"Maybe it started that way, but I came to know him quite well. If I didn't know better, I'd say he'd die for you." Duncan had to smile at Charlie's reaction to the statement, so she continued. "What, you think that is a bit extreme? You're selling him short. He's very faithful." She offered Charlie a refill at this point.

"I thought you said he wasn't faithful." Charlie took a big swig from her refilled cup, trying to steady her nerves. She knew Duncan's people had only been gone a short while, but it seemed like an eternity.

Duncan laughed. Really laughed. "Oh, my dear. If I had wanted that sort of relationship, he would have been faithful to the end of time." Pausing after another sip, she added, "He hates that about himself, by the way. It makes him feel weak. But General Sebastian Monroe is an old romantic softie, deep down." She continued to laugh. How could this girl not know this about him?

Charlie was taken aback. Had she been blinded by her rage and anger towards him that though she told herself that she was seeing him differently, she really wasn't? Was she still only considering the _human_ Bass to be the pre-blackout Bass without allowing that the human, the man, _still_ existed? She was getting a headache.

She reached her glass out for another refill, which Duncan provided.

"He's a little old for me, wouldn't you say?" Charlie realized that for the first time, she had a woman…a woman who knew Monroe and didn't despise him…to talk to about thoughts that had been floating around her mind for awhile. Thoughts that had been confusing her, angering her, _frustrating_ her. Might as well take advantage of this situation…at least it will kill some time.

"Darling, even before the blackout, men and women dated outside of their immediate age bracket. I'd say it matters even less now. If you fit, you fit. Who cares if he's old enough to be your father?" Charlie nearly choked on her drink and must have had quite a look on her face, because Duncan laughed into her own glass and continued, "I'm only guessing he's old enough. It's hard to tell with him. He's a lot younger than his age."

Charlie was really hoping Duncan was not about to go into details about _why_ she thought of Monroe as younger than his age. Fortunately, instead she went into stories about how she always preferred younger men, though she wasn't sure why. She thought maybe it was their stamina. Charlie, unaware, nodded knowingly. She couldn't really compare their stamina to that of older men, she hadn't been with any, but she knew that guys her age had…a lot of enthusiasm. She looked to see Duncan smiling at her. She knew what Charlie had been thinking about. The two women clinked their glasses in an unspoken toast to…enthusiasm.

"So you and Sebastian never…"

"No. No." Charlie did not like this turn in conversation. Where are those people with the recon reports? Shouldn't they have something to report? Her glass was suddenly refilled again.

"Really? Never even came close…"

"I slept with his son." That slipped out before thinking.

Duncan let out a laugh, "That's close, but not really what I meant. And how was he?"

Charlie couldn't help but smile. She wasn't sure what they'd been drinking, but it was good. "He was…enthusiastic." She was about to continue, but was interrupted by one of Duncan's men entering for a report. Finally, she thought.

"The fight is happening tonight. Lars was able to get some tickets so we'll have some people inside."

Charlie assumed "Lars" was one of Duncan's people and was about to try and suggest that she should be one of the people on the inside, but as if reading her thoughts, Duncan looked over to her and reminded Charlie that Gould and his people knew her face so there was no way she would be on the inside.

She could hear Duncan giving orders while simultaneously finalizing the plans for the escape. Charlie kept trying to interject herself into the discussion, but without being a member of the clan, she had trouble getting a word in. Finally, as people began leaving to work on their latest assignments, Charlie had had enough and let Duncan know it. She was not going to be on the sidelines. Duncan, however, had other plans.

"I'm sorry. I'm sure you are a bad ass fighter, but I don't know you. My people don't know you. There is a better than average chance that you would just screw things up simply because there is no familiarity."

Charlie wasn't happy at all with that logic, though she understood. It would be like the difference between fighting with Connor and fighting with Monroe. "So I'm supposed to just sit in this tent and wait?"

No, there was still a part for her to play. "When this goes down, you need to make sure Connor gets out of the fight tent." Seeing Charlie's less than thrilled response, Duncan tried to appease her. Explaining the plans for the escape, at least as it pertained to her, Charlie realized that time would be of the essence and this was something that she could do without risk to getting her wires crossed with Duncan's clan as they fought. It would also help get Monroe out…if he knew Charlie was responsible for getting Connor out, he would get out…and be less likely to waste time arguing about finding his son in the chaos that would no doubt be happening.

"So when does this all go down?" Charlie asked. She was getting excited and nervous.

The fight, Charlie learned, would start in ninety minutes. God, would that be enough time to get everything into place? Fortunately, Duncan appeared to have a good sized clan. They didn't have to do a million things each, like her "clan" back in Willoughby. She hoped that these people appreciated the luxury in that.

"So, Connor is enthusiastic."

What was Duncan asking? Looking around her, she realized that they were alone again and the woman was back to sipping her drink. And waiting expectantly.

"Yeah, whatever. I was bored and we had time to kill while you and Monroe negotiated for the help."

As if contemplating something, Duncan paused, took another drink, and then paused again. "You never call him by his name, do you? Too personal? Too…intimate?"

Charlie wasn't sure if Duncan thought she was being sly with her questions, but she doubted it. She seemed like a woman who said what she thought. "No one calls him Sebastian…except you, apparently."

"You should try it sometime…it rolls off the tongue. Like a purr."

And for some reason, Charlie's face decided at that particular moment to try out the latest craze called "blushing." Charlie had had enough of the innuendo. Why was Duncan so interested in getting her…a woman just an hour ago she basically accused of stealing Monroe…into bed with him. That question may have been plastered all over her face.

"I'm just killing time. And I'm intrigued. I really thought the two of you were together. Really, really together. Sebastian seemed so at peace. The sort of peace that would come with him finally finding his soul mate, for lack of a less-sappy word."

"I think you are confusing that with him being happy with finding his son." Charlie knew Monroe was infinitely more grounded since Connor had been brought into the fold. Even with his minor freak-out after finding them together earlier he still seemed more man, less General.

"Oh, I don't doubt that that has helped, but I'm not generally wrong about people. There is a connection between you two…even if neither of you have actually acknowledged it. Besides…" Duncan paused, took another sip and smiled a knowing smile to herself. "I'd kind of like to find out how _enthusiastic_ his son really is, but I wouldn't want to step on your toes. I figure as long as you know you slept with the wrong one, you won't mind me…" Duncan trailed off in mid sentence to take another drink.

Charlie just slowly put her head down on the table, next to her drink, slowly and gently banging it against the surface.

"What? I told you I prefer younger men."

So, Charlie figured Duncan trusting her to get her newly designated interest out safely did mean something. Assuming Duncan was serious. And honestly, Charlie couldn't tell. Monroe should be happy that his spawn has game.

Thinking of him got her worrying again. What if the plan didn't work? What if they were too late and Connor kills Monroe before they have time to fully implement it?

"It's time to go."

Charlie looked up at an expectant Duncan. Had it already been ninety minutes?

"We need to get in place. It's going to be hectic around the tent, and seeing as how we don't know how long we have before the kid starts really doing some damage to Sebastian, we need to be ready to go right away. Plus, I like to have enough time for improvising in case some last minute changes have to happen. Come on. It's time to set the town a fire."

Charlie wasn't sure what the entire plan was…she hoped Duncan wasn't being literal.

* * *

Connor couldn't believe his dad's "plan." He knew they were in trouble, but there had to be a way out. He thought maybe Charlie could get them out, but neither man knew if she had made it out OK. It was obvious that Bass really hoped she had…and that she kept going, straight back to Willoughby. He knew Gould was as unsavory as they came and if he had caught Charlie, he would make her work off the debt he felt she owed him. And crossing Gould, well, there was no end to that. She would belong to Gould until she lost her usefulness, or until she died.

"What do you mean you have to teach me how to kill you? And yes, I understand the fight-to-the-death concept."

Bass swiped his hand down his face. He was tired and he didn't feel like arguing. He didn't want to spend his last moments on earth arguing with his son. He wanted to just enjoy these last few moments with him, and to think about Charlie.

He had a lot of regret on that end, though he knew that if he was given a second chance, he would likely still hesitate. What he had…or didn't have…with her was OK with him. He got to fight alongside her and protect her and admire her. That was enough. Even here at the end. Resigned to his fate, he decided it was time to get to work.

"Let's get started, Connor. If Gould thinks we rigged the fight, he'll likely kill you anyway and I can't have that." With that, Monroe started giving his son a crash course in some rather dirty street fighting. The fight was to the death…they never said anything about it being a clean fight to the death.

But before too long, it was time. As the two men were escorted to the cage, Bass looked around and took in the atmosphere: the roaring crowd, the flamed torches, the cage. For some reason, he thought he should be able to see Tina Turner repeatedly declaring "two men enter, one man leaves!" He looked over at his son, proud. "I wish I had more time with you."

Connor sadly smiled and looked at him, "me, too" was his somber reply, but as their eyes met, Bass realized nothing else really needed to be said.

"Promise me you won't blame yourself. I'm damned proud of you and if I had to die at the hands of anyone, I'm glad it will be you." Bass waited until Connor silently agreed, though he could tell there was doubt on the man's face. "I know a lot has already been asked of you this evening and you don't need any more pressure, but I need you to do me a favor. Promise me it, and I won't have any regrets, but I need you to do this."

The two men had arrived at gate into the cage. Connor waited and Bass put a hand on his shoulder, making him look directly into his eyes. It was at that moment he saw his father the most serious he had ever seen him. Even a little sad, maybe.

"Promise me you'll look after Charlie. She doesn't need it. She'll bitch about it. But promise me you will anyway."

He slowly nodded his head in agreement, noticing his father's immediate relief in his return nod. It was at that moment he realized. His dad cared for her deeply…loved her, even. But the gate swung open and the crowd's roar amplified to deafening levels.

"It's time."


	2. Chapter 2

Charlie paced discretely, but nervously, outside the event tent, recalling Duncan's instructions before _she_ entered the tent to watch the fight.

_The _moment_ there is a reaction from the tent…act. Don't hesitate a moment. There will be a rush of people and if you wait, you won't get it and you will fail. Don't fail._

Duncan still wouldn't elaborate what that reaction would be, just "you'll know." So here she was, waiting for a sign…a sign she didn't know what it would be.

Suddenly, she sensed a change from the tent. She tensed, ready to act, but realized it was just the roar of the crowd. _They must have entered the ring_, she thought. She was going to be sick.

No, no, she wouldn't be. She had a mission and she would fulfill it…successfully. She just wished she knew what was happening and how long she would have to wait. She understood not being allowed in, but it was killing her not to see Connor and Monroe. Just for a little reassurance.

Letting out a cleansing breath, she just reminded herself that they were resourceful and would be OK. They wouldn't die. _He_ wouldn't die. She was having the same dread she felt the night of his execution, but at least on that night she was able to see him one last time before his death.

Of course on that night, she didn't know a plan had been in place to save him. At least this time she knew there was and she didn't feel so helpless. But this time, she discovered, she was feeling that a greater loss was at stake…she wasn't sure what she felt for Monroe, but now she's at least willing to admit she feels something. It may just be too late.

* * *

The crowd was deafening. Connor looked around and felt a little overwhelmed. It was like when the crowds at Nunez's place were there for a whipping, only larger and more charged. And for once, unfortunately, he was the subject. He looked over at his father and wondered if he was thinking the same thing. Seeing him roll the muscles of his shoulders and back, almost subconsciously, he figured he must have. How many times should this man be made into some spectacle?

He was starting to have doubts about his ability to kill his own father. He thought his father had been dead for years, but it turned out that was just a story. A story about a non-existent man. Now he had his real, live father and now if something extreme and fortuitous didn't happen, he'll have to reaccept the story of his father being dead, but with the cruel twist of him being the cause.

He'd just have to drag this out as long as possible.

He looked back again at his father, who must have sensed his doubts because he was giving him an unyielding look of _you have to do this. You promised._

* * *

He could tell Connor was having second thoughts, but there was no choice. They had already worked on ways to make the fight _entertaining_ for the crowds, but also to drag it out as long as possible. Give Charlie time to put whatever crazy plan she no doubtedly had into action.

He just hoped trying to save them wouldn't get her killed. But she would try, for Connor if nothing else. His heart skipped a beat with the memory of finding them together, but he couldn't think of that pain right now.

He watched as Gould entered the cage and walked to the center of the ring, raising his hands. The crowd got quiet. He began to shout to the crowd.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! You have chosen a great time to be in New Vegas. We have a special treat. A very special treat. Many of you are familiar with Jimmy King…" He stopped to raise his arm and pointed to Monroe. The crowd cheered again, then became quiet to continue listening.

"But what most of you didn't know is that the supposed _Jimmy King_ is actually General Sebastian Monroe, _former_ president of the _former_ Monroe Republic." Gould taunted Monroe with his words. Immediately the crowd's din rose again, but this time it was with jeers and boos.

Gould took great satisfaction in seeing Jimmy…Monroe…looking uncomfortable. It was obvious the former general was not used to being treated with such open hostility. Behind his back, sure, but to his face? Gould smiled a wide, cruel smile. Monroe just leveled his gaze back at the ring master.

"And tonight, General Monroe's true colors came out. He thought _once again_ he could just take whatever he wanted. But unlike before in his former republic, this time, he tried to take from the wrong person. Me!"

The crowd went wild and thundered again.

"But _I_ stopped him. _I _caught him. And _I_ leveled his punishment unto him."

Bass couldn't help but internally laugh at Gould's obvious embellishment of his capture.

"A fight…TO THE DEATH."

At this point the crowd seemed fanatical. The sound was thunderous and the bleachers and cage seemed to shake.

Waving the crowd to quiet down, Gould continued. "But who to match him in this fight? He defeated my best fighter…a house of a man…mere hours ago. Nothing seems to be able to stop him. So who can make the great Sebastian Monroe falter in the ring? This man."

At this point, Gould now pointed to Connor, who unlike his father, felt less sure and looked it. The crowd noticed too. Their shouts of disappointment and doubt got louder and louder. Gould motioned for silence again.

"I know, I know. The boy doesn't look like much, but he too try to steal from me and this penalty seemed more entertaining than just putting a bullet in his head. And he may just very well be Sebastian Monroe's kryptonite. Let me introduce…"

Gould paused for dramatic effect…

"Connor!"

Slightly anticlimactic, the crowd seemed to think; people looking at each other, confused.

"Sebastian Monroe's SON!"

And the cheers rose up again. It was pandemonium. Gould smiled in satisfaction and walked towards the exit of the cage. That took him close to Monroe, whom he whispered into his ear, "You better make an effort to kill your son. If you think you can just sit back and let him kill you and everything will be fine, think again. _I'll_ slit his throat."

Monroe listened, then whispered into Gould's ear, "No you won't. You'll have someone else do it. Because _you_ are weak…and a coward." Gould, obviously pissed off at his inability to intimidate Monroe, just scowled and walked off. "Enjoy the fight, _Jimmy_."

* * *

As the gate to the cage slammed shut upon Gould's exit, the crowd roared up again. Chants of _fight, fight, fight_ and _kill the bastard_ could be heard. Neither men wanted to start the fight and both appeared to be stalling. Their attention was involuntarily diverted by a loud slam of a metal pipe against the cage from one of Gould's men made it clear stalling was not appreciated.

Bass knew he was going to have to make the first move, or he and Connor would be dancing in circles all night. Swallowing down some bile and regret, he swung at his son. It certainly wasn't one of his harder punches, but it was hardly a love tap, either. Upon contact with Connor's jaw, Bass saw all the horrible things he'd done as General Sebastian Monroe flash before his eyes. He knew he was saving his son, but no father should hurt his own child.

Connor stumbled back from the force, but it managed to kick start him into action. He hoped that was his father's hardest hit because any more than that and all their planning in the world was not going to matter. He'd be immobile on the ground. Like planned, he charged Monroe and they ended up against the cage. Monroe knew that once people learned who he was, they'd be itching to get in on the action. Not necessarily because they had been wronged by him personally, but just so they could boast about it later.

As expected, people were reaching through the bars, but not really causing any damage, though. That wasn't the point, though. Bass acted like he was distracted by the spectators for a second, leaving Connor a window to get in a couple shots across his jaw and cheek. Bass embellished a little, pretending to be thrown off balance and fell to one knee.

They both knew it was important to utilize the crowd in this fight. No one would really believe that Connor would get the jump on Sebastian Monroe, a.k.a. Jimmy King, but Connor plus a rowdy crowd? Maybe that would be believable enough. Now they just had to make the eventual wearing down of Monroe look convincing. Neither man was sure how long that would take, how much abuse Connor could withstand from Monroe during that time, and most importantly, when or if Charlie would make her move.

* * *

Little did they know it wasn't Charlie they were waiting for. In the stands, Duncan looked on. As long as it looked like the two men weren't really doing damage, her clan wouldn't rush things. Everything had to be just right. She looked over at Lars and another man, John, both surreptitiously holding beer bottles, but not drinking from them. As they stood near one of the tent's sides, they glanced at Duncan, who indicated they should wait. The smell from the accelerant could, would, attract attention, and she hadn't seen the signal that the others were ready.

She looked back to the fight. Connor already had a split lip and his eye and his jaw were bruised, but what really shocked her was how bad Sebastian was already looking. She could see a lot of extra and unnecessary movement on his part, no doubt to hasten his exhaustion. Unfortunately, neither Gould nor the crowd seemed happy with how long the carnage was taking. This was a death match, not a Golden Gloves fight.

The two men were at a good distance from each other now, both breathing heavily, each bent over and resting their hands on the knees, when someone…likely one of Gould's men, and likely on his order…threw a bat of some kind into the ring, landing near Connor.

The boy looked horrified and hesitated. Bass saw this and made a move for the weapon, knowing his movement would prompt Connor into action without further thought. Connor managed to grab the bat from the ground just as Monroe dove for it. Knowing he would never be able to use it if he thought about it, Connor immediately swung it around, catching his father, still on the ground, on the back of the shoulder and arm.

Monroe yelled out in pain and knew this was the beginning of the end.

Duncan knew it was now or never. Apparently, the universe agreed. She saw Marla walk in the front entrance…the signal indicating that her people were in place and ready to attack. Hearing the roar increase, she saw Connor take another, and another, swing at Bass, who was still on the ground and rolling between his side and back. He was barely getting any defensive moves in to block the bat, which was now smeared with his blood. God, it may already be too late by the time they act.

She quickly gave John and Lars the signal and made her way down the stands to be closer to the cage, but out of the aisles. Suddenly, a rumble sounded from within the tent, but it wasn't the crowd. As flames quickly crept toward the ceiling, the crowd noticed and began to panic as people started for the exits.

From the opposite side of the tent, Duncan's clan began flooding in from the bottom of the tent walls…an act that normally would be met with strict punishment, but in the chaos, they were able to make it in.

Most of the clan engaged Gould's men. A few were working on getting the cage doors on each end open. Others had some sort of metal cutting tools. Duncan went for Gould himself.

* * *

Charlie watched as many of Duncan's clan crouched by the edges of the tent's bottom, waiting for the sign. Already several of what she assumed was Gould's security team had been killed when they tried to inquire why such a group was loitering suspiciously near the tent and that _no way Gould would permit people sneaking into the event_. Poor shmucks thought the group was just trying to catch the fight. It never occurred to them that they might be about to disrupt it.

She was knocked out of her reverie when she heard…and felt…a hot whoosh come from the tent. That had got to be the sign. Immediately, she ran into the tent, passing the guards at the entrance who were distracted by the ploy the clan had used. She didn't look, though. The only thing in her mind was

_Get in, get Connor, get out; _

_Get in, get Connor, get out_.

She heard screams and sensed a stampede of people coming her way to escape the…holy crap, the tent was on fire! Well, that's a distraction all right…and she guessed Duncan _wasn't_ joking about setting the town on fire.

She made it to one of the cage doors…opposite the one that Connor and Monroe had probably used to enter for the fight. For the first time, she was able to take stock of the situation. Her heart dropped. Or stopped. Perhaps both.

Before her stood Connor, with some sort of flat-faced bat…almost like a paddle for a canoe or what Aaron said principles used to use on students for corporal punishment…in his grip.

_Get in, get Connor, get out; _

_Get in, get Connor, get out_.

Connor had definitely taken a beating, his injuries to his face and arms apparent. But her vision was focused back on the bat. It was covered with large stains of blood. Connor was frozen, looking at the mayhem going on inside the tent. But what really got her attention was Monroe, lying prone and motionless on the ground.

_Get in, get Connor, get out; _

_Get in, get Connor, get out_.

She dragged her attention back to Connor. Running up to him, she grabbed him by the shoulders and yelled at him to come with her. She discovered that during the commotion, some of Duncan's people had actually cut a large hole in the cage itself. If the two cage doors were at twelve and six o'clock, the hole was at three and it was near an edge of the tent. That was there escape.

Pointing to the newly created exit, she grabbed Connor again, who was now trying to get to his father.

"Come on. Duncan has it covered. They'll get him out," she tried to yell over the panicked clamor of the crowd. He fought her, but his exhaustion from the fight gave Charlie the advantage and she pushed him ahead of her, out the exit and out of the tent. With one last look at the motionless and bloody Monroe, she exited also, but not before seeing a couple of Duncan's people…Lars and John, maybe?...grab him and drag him towards the exit also.

Turning her attention back to her goal, she saw that a wagon was waiting for them. They both hopped in and it took off immediately…likely to Duncan's compound, where ever that was. She watched behind them to see another wagon pull up to the tent. With all the commotion and growing distance, it was hard to see what was happening, but she was pretty sure that something…someone…was loaded in it before it took off in the same direction.

She just didn't know if it was Bass, or just his body.


	3. Chapter 3

The wagon finally began to slow down, which was fortunate because it should not have been traveling at the speed it was considering the condition of the roads.

She wasn't sure for how long or far they had traveled, but it was a while. Charlie looked over at Connor, who looked like he was going into shock. She wished she had a blanket to put around him to keep him warm…_you do that when someone is going into shock, right?_ Instead, she put her arm around him to try to share some heat.

"I killed him," Connor lamented. "I killed my father." He began to break down. Not crying or sobbing…it was like he was too overwhelmed to do either.

Charlie tried to comfort him. "You don't know that."

Connor abruptly looked at her. _Don't give me that crap._

"What? You _don't_ know that. Yeah, he's going to be in really bad shape. And, yeah, he might die, but I think, at least for now, your father is still alive. He will make it to Duncan's…_alive_." Charlie was pretty sure she was trying to convince herself of that just as much as she was trying to convince Connor.

Eventually, they came to a stop. A large, burly, stereotypical biker dude jumped from the wagon's bench and stood before them, complete with large bushy white beard and leather headband and vest. She hoped that the trailing wagon…with Monroe…Bass…would show up soon she could know for sure what his situation was, but Duncan's men ushered the two out of the wagon quickly. Charlie looked around at the compound. It looked like an abandoned…compound. Maybe a former small military base or outpost and the customary town that grew up around it. Or at least what was left of them. It was definitely defendable; she could see why they chose this place. It was a lot more permanent…and nicer…than what she expected.

Connor and she were escorted into one of the buildings. It looked like former dorms, or maybe a cheap hotel. As they walked down an interior hall, she noticed that every few rooms the doors were removed from the jambs. As she looked in, she saw that these rooms must be used for storage. But she noticed something else: on the opposite side of the exterior windows were an abundance of lanterns, protected from the elements, with their light shining inside the rooms. She looked down the hall and noticed that it was illuminated by the light shining through the missing doors, no need for the use of lanterns inside. Hmmm. Clever.

"I'm Striker, by the way," burly biker dude said to them as they came to a stop in front of a door. "You two will wait in here until Duncan is ready for you. In there," he pointed in the comfortably appointed room, "you'll find supplies to clean up his wounds. There is alcohol. I recommend using the red labeled one for disinfecting only. It tastes horrible. The green labeled bottle is OK for drinking. Help yourself."

Charlie tried to find out about Bass, but Striker slammed the door shut. She heard a lock and figured they were stuck. That pissed her off. _Really_ pissed her off.

She began banging on the door and being a general obnoxious nuisance…and would be until the door opened. Finally, Striker apparently had had enough and the door swung open…violently.

"What is your problem, lady?"

"I want to know how Bass…how Monroe is. I want to know how long you intend to keep us locked up in here. I want to know why you imprison people who are friends. I want to…"

"I want _YOU_ to calm down!" Striker demanded. He wasn't cold hearted. He knew what happened that night and he understood their need for answers. "Look. I don't know how Monroe is doing. If it is as bad as I imagine, we probably won't hear anything for probably an hour."

_God, an hour._

"But, we have a couple people here who were medical personnel before the blackout. An actual ER doctor. And there's a woman who was a field medic in the Army. They know what they're doing. And you aren't imprisoned. We just don't know you. Once things get settled, Duncan will come here and everything will get sorted out. Now please, take care of your friend and leave me be in peace. I'm in the middle of _50 Shades of Gray_ and I would like to get some of it read tonight."

Charlie silently nodded as Striker closed the door. Duncan's clan was a whole lot more diverse and a whole lot less stereotypical than she initially imagined. What a strange group.

* * *

Monroe was brought into the compound's medical unit…or what passed for it. He was unconscious with lacerations and contusions over much of his upper body. As Duncan looked on from a distance, Joseph, the former ER doctor, and Florence, the former field medic, went to work with the meager tools they had. They cut off Bass' jeans and determined that his lower body, for the most part, made it out relatively unscathed. He had one large contusion on the side and back of his upper left leg, but that was all.

"OK. A-B-Cs" Joseph started. "Come on 'Nightingale', what's the situation?"

"Yeah, never heard that one before Joe. But it does get funnier every time you say it." She leaned her head down by Bass' mouth and the room fell silent as she listened. "Air way sounds clear. Doesn't appear to have a compromised pharynx or any obstructions."

"Good. Next?"

"Breathing seems labored. Patient is unconscious and is unable to confirm pain."

At this point, Joseph lightly pushed on the bruised area of his patient's torso, trying to determine any pain. After a little prodding, the patient had a clear pain response, but fortunately in only one location.

"OK, Judy, note to check ribs for fractures," he indicated to their de facto nurse. "Next?"

"Circulation….um…" Florence began as she checked Bass' extremities. "Fingers and hands seem to be warm and color is good."

"Yeah, pulse is good on the femoral artery too." Joseph agreed.

"Mr. Monroe! Can you hear me" Joseph yelled at Bass' face. Monroe stirred but didn't respond. "Mr. Monroe! Do you know what day it is?"

"No," came a weak response from the patient. "Stop yelling at me," he quietly implored.

Everyone smiled a little. At least their patient was more conscious than a moment ago.

"OK," Joseph said, a little quieter. "You're at Duncan's place. My name is Joseph. Do you know what happened?"

"No." a pause. "A fight?"

"That's right." The doctor was relieved to hear his patient had at least some memory of the evening's events. "Can you tell me where it hurts?"

"All over. I just want to sleep."

"In a bit. Do you remember my name?"

Taking a moment to think, Bass finally replied, "I don't know you. Where am I?"

He suddenly tried to sit up and became agitated when they held him down.

"Mr. Monroe. Mr. Monroe! We will answer your questions, but we need to take care of your injuries first."

"Where is Charlie?"

That must be his son.

"He's fine. He's nearby…he's being taken care of in another…oomph" The doctor unexpectedly found himself with a tight grip around his neck.

"_Charlie_ is not a _he_. You are lying to me."

"No." he tried fighting off the grip. "Mistake. There is…young man and…young…woman."

At this, Monroe loosened his grip. The doctor fell back, coughing. At this point, Florence stepped in.

"Sorry, we don't know their names; we thought Charlie was the man's name. I'm guessing Charlie is short for…"

"Charlotte."

"So what is the man's name?"

"I...I don't…can't remember. Clark? Conrad? I don't know."

"That's OK. So, Charlotte and the man are down the hall from here. She's fine. He's a little banged up, but OK."

At this, Bass relaxed and let the doctors continue their work on him.

"Doctor, are you OK?" Florence looked back at Joseph as he approached his patient, but with more caution.

"Yeah, I'll be fine." He answered, still coughing a little. "Though I don't think I'd be going out on a limb and say with his memory impairment, headache, and agitation, he has a concussion."

The doctors finished their examination of their easily agitated patient. Finally, they allowed Duncan to approach.

"What's the verdict?"

"Well, amazingly, he doesn't have any severe fractures, though he has a couple cracked ribs and probably some hairline fractures on his elbow, humerus, and scapula on his left side. He has some pretty deep contusions. He doesn't seem to have any internal bleeding. He has a pretty significant concussion and I'm hoping it is only that, but we need to keep an eye on him in case it is a subdural hematoma. Though if it is, any sort of treatment would be extremely risky. He seems to have equal strength on both sides of his body, so I'm hopeful it's just the concussion."

"So can he be moved?"

"We'll give it about another thirty minutes, and then we can move him to…" Joseph looked at Duncan waiting to hear where his patient would be staying.

"He'll be staying in my quarters."

"Of course. We will have him moved to your quarters when he's able to be moved."

* * *

Charlie had spent the last half hour cleaning up Connor's injuries. And Striker was right. The alcohol in the red labeled bottle was _horrible_, but still disinfected well. The green label wasn't bad at all and Connor had been helping himself quite a bit. He was a mess.

She had been sipping some, but had been holding back only because she wanted to stay sharp until she had Connor cleaned up and found out about Monroe. She really wanted to get plastered. She was just finishing up with Connor when the door opened. She expected to finally see Duncan, but it was Striker again.

"I think they're finishing up with Monroe. A bunch of people just filed out of the med unit. I don't know for sure, but I think he's still alive."

Upon the questioning…and hopeful…looks on the two's faces, he explained, "Everyone looks tired, but not distraught or sad or anything. I'm sure you'll find out more soon."

"Thanks, Striker."

He started to close the door, but movement behind him stopped it. Finally Duncan appeared.

Without wasting time with niceties, Duncan gave them an update. "He's alive. He's injured, and the doctor is a little concerned about head trauma, but barring any unexpected troubles, he should make it."

Charlie and Connor were both extremely relieved and hugged each other, tightly.

"You two can stay here." Duncan motioned to the room. Seeing Charlie's expression at just the one bed, she continued, "Just remove the cushions from around the couch and it can be used as a bed also."

"But where is my dad going to sleep?" Connor asked. He was anxious to see Monroe…and to apologize to him, even though he knew his dad wouldn't feel it necessary.

"I can take the floor, Connor. At least for tonight. I'm not nursing any injuries."

Connor seemed like he was going to argue, though just for show or out of gentlemanly obligation. He should let the lady have a bed, but he was so sore, the thought of sleeping on a hard floor made him sick. Fortunately, he could tell Charlie understood all this. She was giving him her best "don't argue with me" look.

"That won't be necessary; Sebastian will be staying in my room, _with me_."

Charlie wasn't positive, but she could swear Duncan put a little extra emphasis on the end of that statement. For her benefit. Both she and Connor were about to argue with this arrangement, but Duncan went to leave, shutting the door behind her. There would be no arguments.

Angry, but exhausted, the two prepared for sleep, despite both feeling guilty for not fighting to keep Bass with them that night. But with the adrenaline of the evening gone, the fatigue was rapidly overtaking them. Charlie helped Connor into bed, reminding her of all the times she had helped Danny to bed while growing up. She then went to make up the couch to sleep on. She bedded down and felt sleep start to overtake her…though she worried for the man who wasn't there.

Connor and Charlie both drifted off as the sun began to rise. An end to an extremely difficult night.

* * *

Duncan studied the man asleep in her bed. He still had dried blood on him…on his face, in his matted, curly hair, on his neck. He was still. Too still for his usual, fitful sleep. She wasn't sure if it was because of his exhaustion, his injuries, or if he had found peace where ever it was he called home.

Injuries aside, he was still beautiful. Rugged. Virile. She missed him…missed the feel of him above her, beneath her. She wanted it again, even if but a short time. She doubted she could get him to stay with her and her clan, but while he was here, she might as well make an effort to reacquaint herself with him, his body.

She shed her clothes and slowly crawled into bed next to him. Sighing, she reached up to stoke his hair away from his face. "When you are feeling a little better," she whispered to him, "we'll get you a bath. I'll wash the regret and pain from your body." She placed a light kiss on his cheek, and another on the corner of his lips.

Monroe leaned into her touch, slowly turning his head towards her kisses, enjoying the feel of intimacy, even in his less than conscious state.

Duncan began running her hand lightly over his abdomen, careful to avoid any of his injuries and bandaged ribs. Small moans and sighs escaped Sebastian's mouth. Duncan wondered how much she could do to him without exacerbating his injuries. There may just be kissing and fondling tonight, more so for his enjoyment than hers, but that was OK, for now.

She let her hand wander lower, lightly grazing his length, enjoying his slight squirming.

"Does that feel good?" she asked him quietly with a smile.

He nodded ever so slightly and sighed her name. Unfortunately, it was the wrong _her_.

"Charlie…"


	4. Chapter 4

"Hey. Wake up."

Charlie's sleep was interrupted by someone…someone very rude…kicking her bed.

"Hey. Charlie, wake up."

Charlie blearily opened her eyes to see an irritated Duncan looking down at her.

"What is it? Is Monroe OK?" If she hadn't been so sleepy, she might have seen that she hit a nerve.

"Yeah, he's fine. In fact, that's why I need you to wake up."

Looking out the window, Charlie could see that the sun was sitting low on the horizon. Geez. She must have only been asleep an hour or so. She needed more.

Scurrying her out of the room, Duncan escorted Charlie down the hall towards another room…she guessed Duncan's. It was at this point that Charlie realized that Duncan was wearing very little, at least compared to what she had seen her in before. No leather, tough-girl clothes. Instead, she wore a short robe tied in the middle with a belt. It was unknown if she had anything else on underneath.

"What's going on?" Charlie was still a little out of it. "Can I just go back to sleep?"

"You've been asleep all day."

Now that Duncan mentioned that, Charlie realized the sun was in the wrong place for it to be just rising. Good God, is it now dusk? Had she, and Connor, been asleep all day. They arrived at what Charlie assumed was Duncan's room.

"Now, missy, I am done playing nursemaid to Sebastian. I am going to find out more about his son. Maybe he will be a little more…enthusiastic…about my company." She turned and started back down the hall to the room Connor was still in. At reaching it, she turned to Charlie and yelled back at her, "I am not going to waste time on someone just to listen to him mumble another woman's name all night." And with that, she disappeared into Charlie's former room.

Baffled, Charlie quietly entered the room. The drapes were drawn and a few lanterns were emitting low light throughout the room. She took stock of the set up of Duncan's living space. It was a simple rectangular single room open layout. The door was centered on the wall she just entered through. To her immediate left was an area that Duncan must use for reading and planning, with a bookshelf and desk and chair. Along that same wall, but closer to the exterior wall, was a table for eating. Next to that, along the wall opposite from where she stood…the exterior wall…was a kitchen area with a wood burning stove. Continuing from the kitchen and wrapping around the other corner area must be the bathroom. A couple free standing wall screens had been set up for privacy. And finally, next to that, and to her right, was the bedroom. And in the bed, lay a still bloodied Sebastian Monroe.

Charlie quickly, but cautiously approached him, her earlier sleepiness having left her. She knelt down next to the bed. He was naked from the waist up and she could see the bruises and dried blood over his torso. He apparently had some cracked ribs, as he was wrapped in bandages around his midsection. With a sheet pulled up to his waist, she had no idea if he still had on his filthy jeans, if he had been given some clean bed clothes to sleep in, or if he was completely naked under there.

"Bass," she whispered softly.

She watched as his eyes slowly fluttered open momentarily before shutting again. She was relieved to see that he had regained consciousness from the night before, but wouldn't feel truly relaxed until she could talk to him. "Hey, Bass." She tried again, nudging him gently on his less injured right shoulder.

He slowly turned towards her and his eyes opened again. He looked at her, but he lacked focus. There was still recognition, however.

"You OK?"

She should have been asking him that…she had been about to ask him that. He beat her to it. Smiling, she responded she was fine. "You look horrible, Bass."

A ghost of a smile appeared on his bruised face. "You should see the other guy."

All of a sudden, as if something crossed his mind at that moment, he tried to sit up. "Connor? I need to find…"

Charlie had to struggle to get him back down. "Connor's fine. He's asleep in the other room."

Monroe relaxed and let Charlie guide him back down on the bed. She could see that he was still unsure if he was getting the truth. She wondered if he had been lied to earlier.

"I swear, Bass, he's OK. I cleaned up his cuts last night…nothing serious. He was upset thinking he may have killed you, but he's OK. Duncan's with him right now."

Having been appeased for now, he closed his eyes again. Charlie watched him sleep for a little bit and surveyed the tableau before her. He was filthy. His hair matted with dried blood and dirt. Dirt and dried blood was also smeared on the sheets. She was going to need to get him and the bed cleaned up before she could even consider crawling into bed with him. Hmm. Crawling into bed with him. She shook her head amused at the situation.

She could over analyze the situation, but truth was the couch she had slept on hadn't been very comfortable. She was tired and with his injuries, she didn't have to worry about him acting…ungentlemanly. She knew, even awhile back, that even when he's the picture of health, she didn't have to worry about him doing anything that would make her uncomfortable. She even had accepted…and expected…that out of all the non-related men she had come across in this kill or be killed world she lived in, Sebastian Monroe was the one who she could rely on to not harm her or force her to do anything she didn't want to do. Shockingly still, she realized that the list of "anything she didn't want to do" was getting shorter by the day and the list of "things she wanted to do" was growing.

When had she accepted that? Just yesterday she was throwing a fit that people were assuming she and Monroe were together. Hell, just two days ago, she had slept with his son and now she was contemplating sex with Monroe himself? No, she wasn't contemplating it. She just wasn't repulsed by the idea. She actually _liked_ the idea of it. But now was not the time. He didn't need sex right now, he needed some TLC. A lot of TLC.

She wondered when the last time someone took the time to truly care for him, to baby him. Not some Republic doctor or servant, but a friend or lover or family member. It couldn't have been any time recently. He hadn't had family for a long time and she imagined the type of lovers he's had over the last few years weren't the type to take time out for him. And since Miles had left him, he probably didn't have many, if any, friends. How did he not go crazy?

Or rather, it's no wonder he went crazy.

Well she was here and she was his friend. _She_ would take care of him.

It would be a nice change of pace for her, too. Caring, not killing.

She went and checked the bathroom. In it was a tub like the one she soaked in during her Drexel mission. Drexel? Drexler? She was having trouble remembering. It seemed like such a long time ago. There was some clean water already in it, but it was near ice cold. Near the tub were a couple of large buckets with water in them. She carried them to the stove and set them on it so that they would be hot by the time she got Bass up for a bath.

She put what looked like a clean spare sheet on the bed, over the covers, to lay down without getting any of the grime on her. After she rested awhile she was going to see about getting him cleaned up, which would entail either trying to get him into the tub or giving him some sort of sponge bath. She wasn't sure how he would react to either, since both would probably make him feel more helpless than he would want. But there would be no discussion. It had to be done. She laid down for a while a drifted back to sleep.

* * *

When she woke up a little later, it was dark outside, the sun having set who knows how long ago. Bass hadn't looked like he had moved much, if at all. She absent-mindedly stroked some curls from his forehead, waking him. His eyes opened; he stared at the ceiling but didn't speak.

"How are you feeling?" She was hoping he'd be a little more lucid than earlier.

"Like I got ran over by a bus." He paused, not having registered she was in bed with him, or not caring. "It hurts to…everything." He looked around a little, more with his eyes than his head and noticed his state. "I feel disgusting."

She laughed a little, "Well, you look a little disgusting. How about a bath?"

"I don't think I have the strength." He sighed.

For some odd reason, she had seemed more confident about helping him when he was asleep. Now that he was awake and aware, she lost her nerve. But this needed to be done. This wasn't sexual, she reminded herself. It needed to be done. He needed the TLC. Taking a breath, she made the leap, "You need a bath. I don't mind helping you."

That got his attention. He looked at her, unsure.

"Don't argue with me. Now, I'm going to make sure there is some hot water. Rest for now." She ended, patting him on his shoulder.

She got up and was more relaxed with actual tasks to do. She checked the water on the stove and found that both buckets were now indeed quite hot. She carried each back to the tub, pouring the contents of one in and then checking the water temperature. Not quite satisfied with the warmth, she poured some of the other bucket until she felt the water was hot enough to wash the grime from his body and be relaxing for his aches and pains, but without scalding him.

She grabbed a stack of surprisingly soft and fluffy towels and set them closer to the tub, keeping one with her as she went back to the bed.

"OK. Let's go, Bass." She commanded softly. When he hesitated, she was about to get more stern, but he interrupted her.

"I don't think I have anything on." He stated simply.

She held up the towel and he took it from her, slowly sitting up, swinging his feet around to rest on the floor. He covered himself with the sheet and was about to try to stand when she stopped him.

"Let's get these bandages off you before we get you in the tub." She reached around and began unwinding the bandages from around his mid-section. Slowly the deep and ugly bruises became visible. She sucked in a small gasp. "Do those hurt as bad as they look like they do?" she asked, knowing the answer.

Finishing with the bandages, she helped him wrap the towel around his lower body and assisted him as he stood. He seemed wobbly at first, but then became steadier. He leaned on her as they walked to the bathroom.

"Uh, do you need to use the little boys' room before we get you in the tub?"

Pausing, he indicated yes, along with a look that said under no uncertain terms would he need any damn help wiping his own ass. Smiling understandingly, she noticed that there wasn't any soap. She took the opportunity to leave to get some, allowing him some privacy.

Upon her return with soap…and something clean for him to sleep in…he mumbled something about appreciating that Duncan's tribe had figured out some sort of antiquated, but effective, indoor plumbing. From what she had seen so far, she agreed. Duncan's group seemed to be a collection of some very clever and resourceful people.

Bracing himself with his hand on her shoulder, Bass stepped into the tub. Carefully turning in the tub as he stood, he hesitated on handing over the towel that had been covering him when Charlie stuck out her hand for it. She turned her head away as he finally handed it to her and lowered himself into the pleasantly hot water.

"Thanks. I'll let you know when I need help getting out." He reached his hand out to Charlie, waiting for the bar of soap. The action caused him to grunt a little with the discomfort.

"No. You don't need the exertion. I'm giving you a bath. And don't argue with me. I had a bratty kid brother I had to take care of. Loved him to death, but man, he hated taking baths. So no amount of whining will get you out of this." Charlie found that for once a memory of Danny didn't seem to drown her with sorrow…it was just a fond memory. And the significance that it occurred in the presence of only Sebastian Monroe wasn't lost on her.

Sighing, Bass relented…too easily, as far as Charlie was concerned. He must be more miserable than she thought. As she steeled herself for her first glimpse of a naked Monroe, she turned and squatted down, positioned next to the tub behind his back, and sitting on her knees. Looking over his shoulder, she noticed with a grin that while he may have relinquished the towel earlier, he had grabbed the small hand towel that had been hanging on the side of the tub and placed it on his lap, covering himself. She wasn't sure if he did that for her benefit, or if the former general was more modest than she imagined. Either way, her grin grew into a full blown smile.

She grabbed another hand towel, soaked it in the tub to get it wet, and ran the bar of soap over it, getting it nice and sudsy. She gently began washing the dirt and blood from his shoulders, asking him if she was hurting him. He just slowly shook his head "no." She swallowed a gulp of air. There was something so intimate about what was going on. Bathing him was innocent yet seemed to carry so much weight.

She dunked the cloth back under the water, next to his thigh, to get the soap off and rinsed his shoulders with the cloth. She repeated the same motions with his upper back, his arms, his chest. From her position, she realized that many times she found her face, specifically her mouth, near his wet neck. It took everything in her to not lean over and run her lips across his slippery skin. She wondered if he was as delighted as she was. She peeked over his shoulder again and noticed that now his hands were in his lap, covering the wash cloth that was covering him. Was he hiding a reaction that had occurred, or was he trying to hide his vulnerability at what he was afraid may occur?

Unintentionally sighing into his ear, she caused him to gasp.

"Sorry." She whispered as she carefully washed his abdomen. She could have…should have…moved next to the tub, near his hip and legs, for easier access, but instead, she stayed where she was. This position caused…or allowed…her to lean over his shoulder with her arm running down his chest, in order to reach his abdomen. When she finished with one side of his stomach, she brought her other arm down, from the other side of his neck, essentially wrapping him in an embrace from behind. She leaned her cheek next to his, resting her chin on his shoulder. Without a thought, he leaned into her, but said nothing. There was nothing to say.

After a quiet moment, she kissed him several times on his cheek and went to wash his hair. Before she could, he somehow managed to get one of her kisses on his lips. She found it to be hesitant, but incredibly sweet. She rinsed it out, getting a lot of the filth out of it. Then she used the soap and took the time to massage his scalp, careful of any lacerations. It must have felt good because she found herself enjoying the string of soft sighs and moans that escaped his mouth. Rinsing out his hair, he mentioned what she had been suspecting: it _had_ been a long time since some one cared for him like this. He actually formally thanked her. She tried to play it off as nothing, but she could tell this meant a lot to him.

As Charlie continued with her mission to tend to Monroe, she discovered a few surprising things. First, she realized that though she had seen him shirtless several times, this was the first time she saw his bare legs. They were muscular, like a runner, with light brown hair…enough to reinforce his status as a _man_, but nowhere near to the point of calling him hairy.

Secondly, she enjoyed bathing him. She had since dropped the use of the wash cloth and just used her bare hands. It was incredibly intimate and had become quite sensuous. She continued to wash him from her position behind his back, having found sitting next to the tub made the whole endeavor seem more clinical and far less personal, which she didn't care for.

While washing his lower extremities, she made her third and most surprising discovery. Sebastian Monroe was ticklish on his feet, something he tried to hide from her, but with little success. Because of his injuries, she didn't abuse that knowledge, but held it in memory for future reference.

He was nearly clean, except for one place. As if reading her mind, he spoke. "I can finish up. There's no reason for you to have to touch me." He reached his hand out for the soap. She could hear in his voice his preparation for disappointment. Whether he was trying to protect her from an awkward situation or not, she could tell that he wanted her to continue...he needed her to continue. And she had a suspicion that he simply wanted to continue intimacy that they'd been sharing.

She leaned close to his ear. "Shhhh. I'll finish what I started," she stated in a hushed tone. "Unless it will make you uncomfortable."

He thought for a moment, and a small part of her was afraid he would admit he would be uncomfortable. Instead, he dropped his hand, though it quickly became apparent, he wasn't entirely sure what do with his hands now.

"Bass, just lean back and relax. You are supposed to be resting." She tried to sound soothing, not admonishing. She wasn't sure how successful she was. She also wasn't sure she could do this confidently. It's not like she had never been with a man, but right here and right now, she was incredibly nervous.

She tentatively picked back up the wash cloth, figuring having the cloth barrier between their skin may help lessen any awkwardness. She ran the cloth down his abdomen towards his shaft. Subconsciously, he spread his legs a little more, resting his knees against the sides of the tub. When she made contact, Monroe's head lolled back some, resting it against her shoulder. She continued to wash him with her left hand…her arm pressed against his chest and abdomen, while her right arm was wrapped around his upper chest with her hand grasping his left shoulder gently, giving her some leverage. He brought his hands up and grabbed her right forearm, having finally found a place he was comfortable putting them.

As she slowly washed him, probably spending more time than necessary for strictly hygiene purposes, she also caressed his shoulder.

"That feels so good, Charlie," he sighed, making her smile. She could tell he wanted to thrust into her hand, but with his injuries he just couldn't.

"Yeah, it does," she agreed, but knew it was going to have to end. "Unfortunately, you are going to have to get out of the tub soon."

Sadly, he nodded in agreement. She continued washing him for a few more minutes, then hesitantly finished.

"I am going to put some fresh sheets on the bed. Sit here for a bit. I'll be right back." She finished by giving him a chaste kiss on the cheek, which seemed a bit incongruent considering her actions a few moments earlier.

He could hear her stripping the bed of the dirty linens and replacing them with what he imagined were new sheets and blankets. He wasn't sure if it was his concussion, but he was completely confused with what had just happened between them. It seemed both innocent and sexual at the same time. He was afraid he had misread her actions. Yes, they kissed a couple times, but the action had never deepened into anything frantic or erotic. He was so tired though, it _must_ be the concussion.

"OK, are you ready?"

He nodded mutely and together they slowly got him out of the tub and she carefully dried him off. He was amazed at how tender she could be, spending most of the time patting him dry so as not to rub any of his cuts or abraded skin. They cautiously walked back over to the bed where she helped him into the loose cotton pants she had found for him. She rewrapped his ribs and helped him lay down. Pulling the covers up over him, she made sure he was tucked in and comfortable, giving him another soft kiss on his lips.

She went to step away but was stopped when he grabbed her wrist.

"You are staying, right?" Bass asked, suddenly serious.

She bent down and kissed his forehead. "Sure." She had thought of sleeping on the sofa here in Duncan's room, though she was looking forward to sleeping on another one. She was thankful he wanted her to stay with him. She stripped down to her tank top and panties and crawled into bed. She found herself shimmying up right next to him and he put his arm around her. It was comfortable, but they both suddenly felt the intensity of their proximity to each other.

"I really have got to find out from Duncan how they get their laundry so soft. Did you feel those towels? And these sheets…" Charlie was amazed, and was trying desperately to lighten the mood.

Bass figured she was probably too young to remember fabric softener and that this was how most laundry felt before the blackout. He decided to play along with her ploy for light-heartedness, though. "That sounds like a fantastic idea, Charlie. We may not defeat the patriots, but by God, we will have soft towels."

She should have been irritated by his sarcasm, but she was too relieved to hear the old Bass emerging. She snuggled into him as he drifted off to sleep. She lay awake for awhile longer. She was going to have to get an update from Duncan in the morning on what the status was in New Vegas. Is Gould looking for them? For Bass? Would she reconsider the price for her men? And they would need to head back to Willoughby as soon as Monroe could travel. So much to think about.

This evening of caring for Bass was an enjoyable respite, Charlie decided. She was so tired of killing. But tonight she didn't have to think about any of that. It could all wait until tomorrow.

* * *

In the distance, miles from Duncan's compound, two platoons of US Government soldiers silently advanced in their direction under the dark of night.


	5. Chapter 5

Charlie slowly came to. She wished she hadn't; she'd been having a lovely dream of lying in Sebastian's arms while he slowly kissed her forehead, her cheek. It was sensual and sweet and held all sorts of possibilities. Unfortunately, she woke before it got good. Or did she wake? She _was_ in bed, with Monroe's arms around her, holding her close while his lips were pressed against her forehead, placing a few soft kisses. What had they been doing in their sleep?

She glanced down under the covers. _Thank God_, they were both were still clothed. Monroe shifted a little and pulled her closer. Snuggling down, she decided she could get used to this. No. No she couldn't. She couldn't get used to anything that involved _the future_. Sighing she moved to get up, but his hold on her got a little tighter. She expected to see Monroe awake, but he appeared to still be sound asleep. And at peace, for once.

She was too tired to fight him, so she just laid their and thought about the past few days…

* * *

The first full day after the fight, after she and Bass finally woke up and he was able to move around, she walked him to the med unit for a checkup. The doctor decided that Bass' ribs may just be severely bruised but not cracked, which was really good news. He decided against re-wrapping them, for now. He was also more confident that there wasn't any internal bleeding in his brain…just a concussion. Also, really good news.

For the pain, Dr. Joe, as Bass had decided to call him, gave him some sort of mixture of cranberries, tart cherries, turmeric, and hot peppers…all mashed together with some white willow bark. The doc warned it was both disgusting and not nearly as effective as the pre-blackout drugs he would have prescribed, so _bonus_. Later, Monroe admitted that the pain was a little more bearable, though he refused to credit the strange concoction.

After the checkup, Bass was eager to see Connor…finally…and Charlie walked Monroe to the room he was in. As they approached the door, it opened and out walked a very sated Duncan. Startled, but trying to hide it, Duncan managed a, "Hey, Sebastian. You're looking much better."

Suspicious at the warlord leaving his sons' room, he replied, "Yeah. You look very…"

"Enthused" she replied with a smirk, looking at Charlie. Walking away she yelled back to them. "Can I have my room back?"

"Yeah, we're out of there." Charlie hollered back to her.

"You've got to be kidding me," Monroe mumbled as he shook his head and then looked upwards as if to ask "why?"

Charlie was a little uncomfortable for a moment, but then smiled at a thought and ribbed him a little, "What? Shouldn't you be proud that your spawn's got game?"

She saw something akin to pain cross his face, but then he smiled at her. "Yeah, I suppose so. I just wish he'd play elsewhere."

She didn't respond verbally, but hoped that she conveyed her agreement with her eyes. Bass' responding expression said it did.

"Knock knock." Bass bellowed as he knocked on the open door.

Charlie poked her head in to see Connor lying in bed and looking exhausted, though she wasn't sure if it was from the events of the previous evening or the events of the previous last few hours. Connor had his arm thrown over his face in order to block the light from his eyes. After much prodding from his father, Connor finally started to rouse. Charlie almost laughed. He looked like he had been eaten alive with a little shell-shock on the side. She wondered what Duncan had done to the poor boy.

She kept her distance as Bass sat on the bed, talking quietly with Connor. She wasn't sure if it was about his dalliance with a warlord, or if they were discussing the fight from yesterday. Maybe both. She started to feel like a third wheel as their conversation dragged on. She knew they probably had a lot to discuss, but she felt like an intruder. She was about to interrupt them to say she was going to go…somewhere, but Duncan, freshly changed, stuck her head in and mentioned something about breakfast. Charlie went with Duncan, while the guys stayed behind and Connor got ready; they would meet up in a bit.

It wasn't a grand breakfast by pre-blackout standards, but it was a feast compared to what she was used to. Ham, biscuits, eggs, hash browns. No orange juice, but honestly, after what went on in Willoughby, Charlie didn't think she would ever be able to eat an orange for the rest of her life without worrying.

"So Duncan, thanks for helping Charlotte get me and Connor out of that jam last night." Bass said.

"What makes you think that I was helping Charlie? Maybe _I_ decided…" Looking at Bass, Duncan just smiled. "Not buyin' it huh? Yeah, well, you're welcome." She seemed too happy imply for having done a good deed. Bass wondered what the little rescue would cost them.

"So, is Gould going to be looking for us?" Connor chimed in. Charlie had been about to ask that same question.

"And how much is this going to add to my cost for your mercs?" Bass finished.

Still smiling, Duncan began to recap what all went on the previous night. Turns out, Gould, and most of his men, had been dispatched.

"You mean killed," Charlie interrupted. Yes, _killed_, Duncan agreed.

"Well that works out well for you I guess," Bass commented, "unless whoever replaces him still plans on collecting your debts."

"Oh I doubt that will be a problem."

Charlie didn't think it was possible, but Duncan's smile got even wider. Then it hit her. Duncan had taken over New Vegas. That worked out well for her.

"Is that why you agreed to help? You used Monroe and Connor's capture for your benefit?" Charlie was dumbfounded. She guessed Duncan's feelings for Bass weren't as strong as she thought.

"Don't give her a hard time, Charlie. Duncan is an opportunist." With the pot/kettle look Bass was getting from Duncan, he added, "That's how she's gotten ahead. There's nothing wrong with that. We got what we wanted, and she got something she wanted. Just because it wasn't part of your plan doesn't make it wrong." Bass wasn't sure why he felt the need to defend Duncan. Maybe it was less about justifying her actions and more about trying to justify his past behaviors.

Connor chimed in, "I guess we can at least count on New Vegas being a patriot-free safe haven." He then looked at Duncan for verification. She nodded to him.

"And don't forget the fun, debauchery, and depravity," the new leader of the town added with delight.

Charlie thought things were getting off topic and wanted to steer the conversation back to what she wanted to find out. "Great, so we don't have to worry about Gould and his men looking for us, but what about Monroe's question. How much more are your men going to cost us?" And where the hell are we going to get the money…we can't very well steal from Duncan to give to Duncan, she thought.

"Oh don't worry about that. With what I just earned by taking over things, I have come out far ahead, but," Duncan looked right at Monroe and paused. _And here's the other shoe_, Bass thought. "It might be nice if I could count on the great _Jimmy King_ to make an appearance a few times a year for some really good fights that I could promote the hell out of."

Bass wasn't thrilled about that idea, but he hesitantly nodded. Maybe he'd be dead before he would have to make good on that.

The conversation continued while the group ate. They discussed how many men would be going to Willoughby and for how long. They planned on contingencies in the event New Vegas was attacked or if the resistance fell in Texas. They speculated on the small disturbances in the terrain on the outskirts of camp that seemed to be caused by nothing out of the ordinary had been found within miles of the compound.

They also discussed Monroe's health with the hopes of heading out sooner rather than later. Though if Bass wasn't mistaken, he thought Duncan would like it if took him a while to heal so that they, specifically Connor, would have to stay awhile. Great. He so did _not_ want to be put in a position where Duncan could be calling him _dad_.

Fortunately, since Dr. Joe had decided his ribs were bruised and not cracked, recovery should happen a lot more quickly. Or at least, he would get to the point more quickly where no more damage could occur. Bass was just shit out of luck when it came to the pain part.

The rest of the day was spent helping the clan around the camp or exploring, or just resting…though that was mostly Monroe. Connor had moved his stuff into Duncan's room. Neither Charlie nor Monroe wanted to stay in the room that they knew Connor and Duncan had had their romp. Striker had understood (after all, he had had to listen to it all night from across the hall) and had been kind enough to locate another room for them. It was small, but clean and comfortable. It never occurred to either of them that Charlie should have her own room apart from Monroe.

The next few days were a copy of that first day. Get Monroe checked out by Dr. Joe, help around the compound, eat and drink, and then retire to their rooms. Every evening Charlie helped bathe Monroe, though they both knew he had healed enough to do it himself. Neither voiced it, but they were both unhappy at the thought of this ritual ending when they got back to Texas. Afterwards, he would lay down to rest while she took her own bath. She had nipped any ideas in the bud that he had about bathing her. She liked the idea of it sure, but there was something gratuitous about it that kept her from agreeing. Monroe may not have still needed her help to bathe, but they could delude themselves into believing her help was necessary.

After she finished, she would dry off, put on a clean tank top and panties and crawl into bed with Sebastian Monroe. He would just hold her all night. In the morning they would wake up, both disappointed that the other hadn't had the nerve to act on what they both wanted.

* * *

Finally, Charlie began to feel Monroe stir. When he finally woke, they looked at each other with that "why didn't you act on your feelings last night…I would have reciprocated," look that they had both been perfecting the last few mornings. Before getting up, he kissed her on the forehead, which had quickly become a habit when they were alone.

It was apparent that Monroe had made leaps and bounds in the healing process. He was still in pain, tart cherry/willow bark concoction notwithstanding, but his movement was barely impacted even after just this short time. They would be heading back to Willoughby in the next day or so.

As Charlie grabbed some food for breakfast while she waited for Monroe's checkup, she overheard a couple of the tribe discussing, with more concern, about the indications of movement outside of the compound. But with no clues indicating who if anyone was out there, there wasn't a lot that could be done.

Charlie decided to find Duncan and offer her tracking skills. She didn't want to leave the New Vegas area just to be ambushed nor did she want their new allies to get attacked soon after their departure.

Monroe found her a little while later, having grabbed some food for himself. "What's going on?" he asked as he watched her packing a bag.

"Going tracking. Gonna try to figure out what's going on out around the compound."

"You aren't going alone, are you?" Bass was ready for a heated argument with Charlie, but she just agreed that she was not in fact going alone…that he would be accompanying her. It would be good for him to get that level of physical activity but without having to go through the rigors of fighting just yet.

"New coat?" Charlie asked casually. It was heavier than his leather jacket he had with him and similar to what she had seen the _Marlboro Man_ wore in old magazine ads. It made Bass look even more masculine and virile than his usual masculine and virile self. She approved.

"Yeah, it was lying around and Duncan gave it to me since the weather is starting to get colder." He replied absently. "Are you warm enough in your jacket? We can find you something warmer…"

Charlie found his concern endearing. "No, I'm good. Striker found me some heavier shirts, so I'm warm enough."

Bass had noticed that Charlie had been wearing more and heavier layers the last day or so since the weather had suddenly changed here on the Plains. He was glad she wasn't freezing, but he did miss the short, tight tops that she wore during the hot summer months. "OK, let's get going."

Bass waved "later" across the courtyard area to Connor as they headed out for what they hoped would be a day of successful tracking.

* * *

Both Bass and Charlie were silent as they hurried back to Duncan's compound. They hadn't found anyone in the area, but what they had found led them both to the same conclusion. A rather large group of individuals have been stalking around the outer fringes of the area around of the compound. Based on the evidence, Bass was concerned that the camp was being systematically surrounded ahead of an imminent attack. It was unknown if it was the patriots, other war clans, or some upstart new to the area. And frankly, it didn't matter. They just needed to get back and get the tribe to step up patrols and fortifications.

They got back as the sun dipped close to the horizon; they immediately found Duncan and filled her in. She didn't seem surprised, but she was still pissed. Based on what her people had seen and the rumor mill in New Vegas, she had a feeling that something like this was going on. In her opinion, it was the patriots, not another clan or a small-time outsider. She immediately set her clan in motion to get things packed up into wagons and get all the horses set. They were going to have to evacuate to a secondary compound soon, at least until they could get their infestation problem handled. It wouldn't be the first time they've done this. Probably wouldn't be the last.

She had suggested that Bass, Charlie, and Connor head out for Willoughby tonight. She would send a few mercs with them. Not as many as they agreed to. She needed them to ensure the tribe got away clean whenever the evacuation was called for. She'd send the rest after that. Bass understood and appreciated getting any extra help at this point. Connor was finishing getting their wagon packed and the horses hitched while Charlie and Bass went to say good bye to Duncan and get any last minute updates.

Having received word that the roads to the southwest still seemed clear, they started heading back to their wagon, seeing Connor already sitting up on the bench, reins in hand. Charlie was looking forward to being out on the road…she was starting to feel trapped here.

Suddenly mortar shells went off and explosions knocked her off her feet. She fell to the ground and could hear shouting all around. She groggily lifted her head to see that she and Bass were still about 1000 feet from their wagon. One thousand feet of screaming, running, and exploding chaos.

"Go! Go!"

She turned her head towards the voice and saw Bass waving Connor to take off. He hesitated for a moment, but took off in the direction of their planned escape. Suddenly, she was being grabbed and realized that Bass was dragging her towards where some horses were kept.

"Go, get out of here. Don't engage them. Meet up at the rendezvous point!" Charlie could barely hear Duncan yelling to everyone.

Bass grabbed a horse for them to share and she scrambled up on it behind him. She grabbed a hold of him around the waist as he urged the mount into a full out run. Because of the chaos of the invading patriots-and she was sure that's who it was-they had to head north…the opposite direction that Connor and most of the clan were escaping to. They would have to meet up after they negotiated their way through the battlefield.

Escape would have been easier if the sun had still been up, but that was why one usually waited until nightfall to attack. Though the darkness did help them elude being shot or captured, it wasn't dark enough to completely lose their attackers. They could hear pursuers chasing them…like hounds to a fox…but what was worrying is that they were being driven further and further north and west, away from the rest of the clan.

Bass kept encouraging the horse further and faster and Charlie could finally feel a little distance developing between them and their stalkers. Monroe wanted to ease them back south, but to keep up the rapid pace, he had to stay on their current heading.

As the sound of their pursuers got fainter and fainter, he eased up a bit to allow them time to assess the situation. He hopped off the horse, giving the reins to Charlie while he started towards a rise in the terrain. He went to dig out his binoculars when he realized that his pack had been on the wagon. He stopped Charlie before she walked the horse down a small dip in terrain to hide and was relieved to find she had her small pack…the one she had taken scouting with them earlier, though it was lacking much of what her main pack usually contained. Unfortunately that pack was on the wagon, too. She handed her binoculars to Monroe and moved her and the horse out of sight.

It was difficult to see with only a sliver of moon to illuminate the sky, but he could see faint movement in the distance to the southeast…their pursuers. He then scouted around in the other directions to see their best course of action. To the east he could see some more movement. It could be nothing or it could be more patriots. To the northeast looked to be some rough terrain…ridges mainly, not allowing for pass-ability. To the southwest was the Arkansas River and probably more patriots.

That left continuing northwest, which looked clear, but left Bass a little disconcerted. That takes them toward Canon City which was bad for two reasons. First, that old abandoned town was surrounded on three sides by the Rockies, effectively boxing them in. Second, passed the town, they'll get pushed right into the Rockies. He didn't like the idea of heading to higher elevations with the weather turning. The higher they got, the weather would just get that much worse. They weren't dressed for it, but they really didn't have a choice. He was hoping that they could hide out for a day or two without having to reach the really high elevations, and then make their way back around when the coast was clear and head back south to meet up with Duncan's clan.

* * *

It had been several hours since Connor had gotten separated from Bass and Charlie. From what he heard from people who were nearer to them, they made it out of the compound in one piece. But they hadn't arrived at the rendezvous and he was worried that they had been captured…or worse…outside the compound. He heard Duncan approach him.

"Everyone is heading to our alternate compound. How long do you plan on staying here?" Duncan asked casually. Well, she meant to sound casual. Truth was, she was worried, too. She saw them get out, but she couldn't imagine why they weren't already here unless they had run into trouble.

"As long as it takes them to get here." Connor responded matter-of-factly.

"I figured as much. We need to keep a small contingent here to direct the stragglers to the correct alternate site anyway." She took a moment to study him. He was worried and it showed. The kid had been through the wringer this past week. She reached out and touched his shoulder. "Hey, I'll be back in the morning if you're still out here. We'll find them."

Connor nodded and watched as most of the clan headed out before he turned back to watch for his father and Charlie.

x x x x

Connor hadn't gotten much sleep overnight. He was exhausted and would doze off, only to be woken suddenly when he heard someone approaching. It happened every hour or so, but it was never the people he was waiting for. Striker, who had also stayed, had mentioned that nearly everyone was accounted for…only missing about 12 people, including Monroe and Charlie. It wasn't said, but they both knew that more than likely those twelve would never be returning to the clan. If they could have made it back, they would already be here.

He heard some horses riding up and knew Duncan was back. It was likely she was going to force him to leave…either to the new camp or back to Willoughby. He couldn't go back to Texas yet, no way. He didn't even want to go to the camp either, but somehow he figured he wouldn't have a choice.

"Come on Connor, let's get back to camp. We will send people out here daily to check in to see if anyone shows up, but for now, we all need to be in camp." The warlord said in a tone that meant no arguments. She hopped in his wagon and took the reins.

"He's not dead." Connor stated, maybe more to convince himself than anything.

"I know." Duncan replied evenly.

"But what if he's hurt out there, somewhere, and needs help?" Connor jutted his chin in some vague indication of "out there."

"We need to take care of these patriots first…either make sure they are dead or have moved on…then we will start sending out scouts to look for our missing."

Connor seemed to accept that, at least for now.

* * *

It had been a couple days since they headed into the mountains. The terrain got steeper quickly and they had to abandon the horse early on. They left a note on her so that, in the event she was found by Duncan's clan, they would know they were still alive, but left it vague enough that if she fell into the patriot's hands, it wouldn't provide much information.

They would head up further, make camp in some hidden alcove in the topography, and wait to see if patriots were still scouting. After waiting several hours, thinking the coast was clear, they would head back down, cautiously, only to come across patriot scouts. And there were always too many to take on, so they would head back up the mountain again. Each time this process played out, they found themselves at higher and higher elevations. One step forward, two steps back.

Earlier in the day it began to snow. Fortunately, it was just a light snowfall, not a blizzard, but Bass was sure it was only a matter of time before they would be facing those conditions. He was also sure that the patriots knew that, too, and that their plan was to either capture the two fugitives, or drive them up into the mountains to die from exposure.

They found a small crevasse to hide in for the night. It would protect them from the wind that had been picking up all day, but would afford little protection from the cold. Neither was comfortable with the thought of lighting a fire, no matter how badly they needed it, since it would just act as a beacon to their patriot hunters. They hunkered down for the night. Bass had Charlie sitting on his lap and wrapped both his arms and his coat around her. He was thankful that his new coat he had gotten right before the attack was bulky enough that it could wrap around her body while he still wore it. He could even zip it up most of the way, swaddling her against him. He still didn't think she was warm enough.

They were both exhausted and hungry. Yesterday, they had finished up what little food Charlie had had in her pack. And with only a couple knives…and trying to avoid capture…hunting for food was out of the question right now. And he was worried about Charlie…she looked ragged.

He didn't know how he was going to save her this time. He kissed her forehead and settled in for another sleepless night.


	6. Chapter 6

The patriots had given up once the conditions turned ugly. The wind had been blowing all day, blinding Bass with snow that had been steadily increasing in strength over the past 36 hours.

Charlie had collapsed a couple hours ago, unable to keep moving. He'd been carrying her since. Her chest pressed against his, still swaddled within his coat, and her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his body as well. He had his hands in her back pockets trying to keep them warm. He was amazed in her ability to hang on, even when mostly unconscious, though he bet the fact that she was helped some by his coat holding her in place. He was glad he could carry her, but it wasn't doing his injured ribs any favors.

Bass trudged along in the snow, the wind making it difficult to stay upright; he was unsure which direction he was traveling, but he felt compelled to keep moving forward. He was afraid if he stopped to rest or make camp, they would freeze to death. They probably would eventually anyway because he wouldn't be able to keep this up indefinitely.

He wiped the snow from his face for the umpteenth time and looked around. Hopelessness was setting in. It would have already if he had been alone. But he had to keep moving, for her.

"So when we get married, our honeymoon is going to be somewhere warm. Maybe we can fly to Bali. Yeah. You'd like Bali. It's romantic. And warm. And beautiful…like you. And warm." He knew he was rambling and making very little sense…at least in terms of reality. They weren't getting married and they sure as hell wouldn't be flying anywhere. But he felt compelled to talk to her, if for no other reason than it made him feel like she was conscious and OK. Plus, it took his mind off how mind-numbingly cold he was.

He wiped the precipitation from his eyes again, stumbling a bit. Charlie roused a little from being jostled, but lost consciousness soon after burrowing her face in his neck. At least he knew she was still alive.

He stumbled again and panic started to set in. They were only hours away from death if they didn't find shelter soon. He didn't care about his own mortality, but Charlie needed to continue to live. He considered stopping when a horrible thought crossed his mind. What if he died, but she managed to live…and awoke weak, disoriented, and alone. No, he would keep moving forward. He was tired, though. Exhausted, really. He just wanted to rest for a little while.

He would give anything to be able to just stop for a while and sleep.

That was his last thought as he slowly fell to the ground, the snow whipping around them, slowly covering them in a frozen silence.

* * *

Consciousness barely seeped through. He couldn't move.

_ "…there's a pulse…"_

He couldn't really see and he was only catching sounds or words in bits.

_ "…gotta get 'm back…"_

But he could feel. He felt like he was sliding, kicking in a sense of vertigo and a good measure of panic. He tried to flail his arms to find Charlie, but couldn't manage the energy.

_ "…possibly have come from..."_

Had the patriots found them? He didn't get the sense that they were being captured.

God! They were still a "they," right? Had these people used plural terms or was it just him they found? He tried to think back, but his mind was cloudy and he had only heard bits and pieces the first time. Panic had him thrashing around trying to get a touch of Charlie near him. The unknowns around him thought he might be having a seizure and tried to hold him down.

"We don't have time for this. Weather's getting bad. We gotta get back."

Bass' last exertion completely drained him and he immediately lost consciousness.

* * *

His consciousness came back only in stages. He had flashes of his boots being removed…of his coat being removed…of him reaching out for Charlie, only to not find her. That's what increased his consciousness a step. He opened his eyes as much as he could. He was groggy, but searched his surroundings. He thought he was inside. Across the room drew his attention. Charlie, unconscious, was being held. He could see several arms around her. They were removing her clothing. He tried to reach for her. To save her. He couldn't.

He let out a growl, which caught the attention of all in the room and everyone stopped, but no one released the grip that had a hold of him.

"You have to calm down…" a struggling voice broke through his mind.

He could feel his shirt being tugged at. He struggled some more.

"Forget it. Just dump him in," another, more irritated voice said.

Suddenly, he was wet. And in pain. He must have let out a strangled cry.

"I know, I know. It's going to hurt for a bit," a calming voice came through. "We didn't want to make the water too warm, but any amount is going to hurt your skin until we can get your body warmed up.

Still groggy and disoriented, Bass tried to see the person speaking but couldn't get his eyes to focus. They felt frozen. He did manage to get out a pained, "Let her go. Don't touch her."

The voice near him turned away. "Josh, bring her here."

"She still has some…"

"That's fine. We can get the rest off of her after she's in the tub. He's getting antsy being away from his wife."

A few moments later, Bass felt Charlie being eased in to the water with him. Though still unconscious, she also responded to the pain of warm water on her frozen skin. Bass immediately reached out and brought her to him and let out a relieved sigh.

He felt the kind voice pat him on the shoulder. "I don't know what you two have been through or what the hell you were doing in the mountains this time of year, but soak for a bit and get warm. We'll talk later. I'm leaving my daughter, Emily, to watch over you. Make sure you don't drown."

Bass could swear there was a hint of humor in that last bit, but he was too exhausted and sore to really care. He shifted to hold Charlie closer and drifted off to a light sleep.

* * *

Some time had passed and Bass jerked awake. Really awake. He looked around the room, confused. Warmth had somehow permeated his body and he realized that he-and to his relief-Charlie were in a tub. A young woman was adding some warm water to it. He instinctively brought Charlie closer to him, turning her to him to hide her chest from the stranger. With her on his lap, he was covered, but he still felt very exposed to this unknown person.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you but the water needed warming up. How are you feeling?" the young woman inquired.

"Warmer." Bass replied, still confused. "Who are you? And where are we?" Looking around trying to get his bearings, Bass couldn't remember much of anything, other than cold, snow, and protecting Charlie. "What's going on?"

"My brothers and father found you and your wife out in the mountains while they were hunting. You two were nearly dead. They brought you back here and we…"

Emily was interrupted by Charlie stirring.

"Charlie? Hey, Charlie?" Bass had equal parts worry and relief.

"Why am I in a tub?"

Bass could only smile. Charlie always did get straight to the matter. "Well, I was bored with the freezing snow, so I thought a bubble bath would be a nice change of pace."

The look of acceptance on Charlie's face was priceless. Her grogginess prevented her from immediately recognizing the sarcasm and seemed to take Bass' explanation as fact. That only made him smile more.

"We were rescued by some nice mountain people. They are warming us up." He stopped to smile at Emily, "or they are using us as a main ingredient in some stew they are cooking."

Emily relaxed. She didn't know who these people were, but at least the man had a sense of humor. She always felt anyone who could make jokes at life couldn't be all bad. She had to play along. "Damn. I thought we were being sneakier than that."

Bass laughed out loud. I silent appreciation passed between him and the young woman. Humor. It bonded humans together as an unwritten rule of acceptance.

Charlie had become more aware of her surroundings and indicated that she was turning into a prune.

"You guys have probably warmed up as much as you are going to in the tub. When you get out we have some dinner cooking." With a gleam in her eye, she looked directly at Bass. "Stew. I hope you like it." She pointed around the room. "There are some towels and we managed to round up some clean and dry clothes for you to wear for now. I'll be right outside when you're done." With that, she left the room.

"Seriously, Bass, what is going on?" Charlie was still confused and just now realized the crap he had dished out earlier as a way of explanation. And on a tangent, she also realized that Duncan was right…_Bass_ does roll off the tongue like a purr.

Getting out of the tub, Bass could only respond that he wasn't sure, but that he felt these people weren't patriots and weren't going to hurt them. She watched him standing there, naked and wet, surveying the room. He leaned over to grab a towel and she was a bit disappointed she could just sit here and appreciate his body a little longer.

Not that she hadn't seen a lot of his body over the past several days. She had…and she had come to expect to see his entire body at least once or twice a day. She had been wrong that first night. Sebastian Monroe was certainly not modest. He was very comfortable with his nudity, nearly proud of it. She didn't mind that about him at all. The only thing that surprised her was how quickly she came to crave it.

He surprised her, however, by holding the towel up and instructing her to get out of the tub. It just now occurred to her that she had no idea how, when, or by whose hand she became naked. She just hoped it had been Monroe. She stepped out of the tub and he wrapped the towel around her, rubbing her skin to dry her off. The towels were warm, though not as soft as Duncan's towels. She stood there as Bass toweled her completely dry and realized that it wasn't by accident he hadn't wrapped himself up in a towel yet. He knew she was admiring him, and he liked it.

Once dry, Bass finally grabbed a towel for himself and quickly dried off. He walked over to the clothes and grabbed a flannel nightgown and held it up to himself. He turned and smiled at Charlie, "this looks too small for me…I guess it's for you." He then threw it to her.

She caught it and added that it wasn't his color anyway. She could tell he was working overdrive to keep her spirits up and not have her worry. How long had he been doing that? Was this a new element to his protection of her…not just her physical being but now her mental state as well?

She pulled it over her head. It was only slightly too big for her, but it was warm and clean and dry. She realized that she had no underwear on and that there wasn't anything for her, but the nightgown was thick and she felt covered.

She looked to see that Bass had slipped on what looked like long underwear. The pants showed off his musculature, but the shirt was a bit long, so with the complete set on it was more modest than Charlie would have wanted. But, if he was going to be around strangers, it was probably more appropriate.

He had her sit down while he slipped on some fluffy wool socks onto her feet and did the same for himself. "Ready?"

She nodded and they reached the door. Emily was waiting for them as promised. "Stew's ready. You guys look like you could use a good meal."

"You have no idea" Bass mumbled. Once he could smell the stew, with the beef and the vegetables, his hunger hit him with full force. Charlie seemed a little unstable on her feet, and he grabbed her…glad to have something to hold onto himself. As hungry as he was, he couldn't imagine how she was feeling. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, "I know you're hungry, but remember to try to eat slowly so you don't make yourself sick."

She nodded and couldn't wait to have a hot meal.

* * *

As Bass and Charlie ate their stew, they tried not to feel uncomfortable about being studied by their hosts, though they were sure there were plenty of questions to be had for the mysterious couple. Bass appreciated them being allowed to eat before the interrogation started. Bass finished up but declined an offer of a second helping. He was sure he could have eaten it, but he, like his hosts, had a lot of questions.

"Thank you for the meal. It's been at least a few days since we've eaten. Longer since we had a hot meal." He looked at Charlie who simply nodded as she finished up her stew. She too turned down offer of a second helping…until Bass gave her a look that indicated that she would have more. He could answer questions while she ate. "Where are we?"

"Aspen." The oldest man spoke up.

Bass was shocked. He didn't know how far they were from where they had originally collapsed, but even if they had been several miles, they had still made it up much further into the mountains than he had thought.

And his expression, the man seemed to agree with Bass. "Yeah, we were surprised to find people up here in this weather, too. Where did you come from? And why are you up here?"

Bass and Charlie looked at each other. They hadn't had time to plan a strategy. How much should they tell these people? Their hesitation showed and the man changed course. "How about something easier. I'm Michael. My wife, Abigail," he pointed to the woman sitting next to him.

"Abby is fine," she added. Bass realized it was her voice that had calmed him when he first awoke.

"You've met our daughter Emily," she nodded to them while bouncing a bundle in her arms.

Bass nodded to her and then looked at the three men in the room.

"These are our sons, Joshua and Matthew, and Emily's husband Joseph."

Joseph stuck his hand out to Bass as an offer of welcome. "Joe is fine."

"Who's the little one?" Bass asked, pointing to the bundle.

Joe's face lit up only like a proud father's could, "This is Liam. Our son."

Bass smiled but there was a sadness to it. He realized at that moment how much of Connor's life he had missed. And he knew that his own smile at introducing Connor to the world would have dwarfed Joe's.

Abby must have picked up on the sadness somehow. She was delicate about it, but had to ask. "Do you two have children?"

It was at that moment Bass realized that on more than one occasion, this family had referred to Charlie as his wife. Until he could assess the situation better, he decided he…they…wouldn't correct them. "No," was all Bass responded. He could tell Abby suspected…something…so he clarified, "I have an older son from a previous relationship."

That seemed to quell any of Abby's rising suspicions. She turned to Charlie. "So, your name is Charlie, right?"

Charlie nodded, "yeah, my nickname. My real name is Charlotte."

"Nice to meet you, Charlotte." Abby then turned to Bass. "I don't think any of us caught your name, though."

Again, the two hesitated. He was tired of living under assumed names and having those around him have to hide his identity. But he also didn't want Charlie thrown out in the cold with him if he told these nice people who he really was.

Michael sighed at their renewed hesitancy. "Look, folks. We've taken you in. We'd appreciate some honesty. Whatever you've done in the past, it can't be all that bad. Many people up here in the mountains are up here because they are trying to get away from something in their past."

It had been a long time since he had been scolded by his father, but he was pretty sure this is what it would feel like. He could sense Charlie was about to speak up…probably with a lie…and he gently put his hand on her shoulder to silence her.

"Promise me that you won't hold my past against Charlie." He begged the elder couple.

"Son, I just said that we all have pasts…"

"PROMISE me."

Resigned, Michael looked at his wife and they agreed. Bass really preferred to keep his cards closer to the vest, but didn't think he had a choice. He looked to the ground and then spoke up. "I'm Sebastian Monroe. Charlie and I are running from a group of people called the patriots. I don't know if you've had any dealings with them, but they are pretending to be the US government. They aren't."

He waited for a response. He fully expected to be thrown out and only hoped these people would keep their word and let Charlie stay. He also half expected for one the young men to grab a shotgun and fill him with buckshot. Dozens of scenarios played through his head and none were good. One that didn't play through, though, was the one that happened.

Michael's face split into a huge smile and he laughed. Loudly. "So you aren't going to tell us."

"Dad."

"That's fine. If that's how you want to play it for now."

"Dad."

"What, Matt?"

"I actually think he's telling the truth."

Michael looked at his eldest son, then back at Bass.

"I saw pictures of Monroe when I traveled out east. I couldn't figure out why this guy looked so familiar. I didn't place it right away. President Monroe didn't have a beard. But it's him."

Michael turned back to look at Bass. "Huh."

Matt smiled at his father's response and looked at Bass. "My father…a man of few words." Matt studied him and Charlie. "Did you drop the bombs on Philly and Atlanta?"

Bass looked down in shame. He had no idea how, without mass media, he could ever let enough people know it wasn't him. It's not like he could send out a mass tweet _I didn't drop the bombs #PatriotsSuck_.

"No. I loved my city. And I didn't bomb Atlanta either." Apparently his sincerity showed through because Matt seemed to take him at his word.

"Who did?" The younger brother, Josh, asked.

"It was the patriots," Charlie responded. "One of them anyway. A guy named Flynn."

"We haven't had any interaction with these patriots. I don't think anyone up here has," Michael stated. He looked around to the rest of his family and everyone seemed to agree. "I'm guessing we should consider ourselves lucky."

"I just hope we didn't lead them up here." Bass admitted. "How far from here did you find us?"

Josh piped in, "a little less than a mile. Unless they were stupid, I doubt they followed you." Upon the look he received from his brother, he quickly added, "uh, not that I was implying you were stupid for being up here, I just meant that…"

"No, we were stupid for being up here. We didn't really have much of a choice, though." Bass was now even more convinced that the patriots had been trying to kill him and Charlie by running them up into the mountains. "But we need to get back home. How long do you think before the weather clears and we can head back down?"

At that point, Liam became fussy and Emily excused herself to put her son down for the evening.

"You guys aren't getting back down…not any time soon," Michael informed them.

Bass suddenly got a chill and wondered if he had made a miscalculation with these people. Were they holding them hostage? Were they going to hurt Charlie?

"Winter hit a little earlier than normal, and by now, the routes out of the mountain are impassable. And usually when winter hits early, she stays a little longer. I can't imagine you guys being able to safely get out of here before April. And probably closer to May. I wouldn't feel right letting you two risk it. But you are welcome to stay here for the winter."

At this point the whole family began to gather up things to settle down for the evening, leaving Charlie and Bass a little stunned at their current predicament. Matt indicated for Bass and Charlie to follow him.

"There is a room you can sleep in. It belonged to my brother Jacob. He died last year."

"Sorry," both Charlie and Bass provided.

"Thanks, but life up here can be hard." Matt seemed to have accepted his brother's death. Or he was at least really good at masking any pain. "Bathroom closest to his room is there," he added, pointing to a door. "We actually have indoor-ish plumbing. Here in the mountains we can use gravity to help eliminate things out of the house. I doubt you're interested in any more details than that," he finished with a smile. "Here we are. We've had the fire going for a while, so the room should be nice a warm."

Bass opened the door and found that, yes, the wood burning stove in the room had indeed warmed the room quite nicely. "Thanks, Matt."

"No problem, General."

Bass shook his head. "No. I'm not that guy, Matt. Be sure to let your family know that, too."

Understanding, Matt amended his earlier comment, "No problem, Mr. Monroe."

Bass closed the door and sank onto the bed. He was beyond relieved. Charlie wasn't going to die from exposure running from the patriots. She wouldn't be thrown out in the cold because of his past. And he would be able to stay with her…as himself. He looked at her, who was studying him. He looked around the small bedroom. "So, this is warm enough that even you won't get cold, huh?"

Charlie managed to look irritated with him even though she was about to drop from exhaustion. "Are you mocking me?"

"I'm just saying I have never known anyone whose feet get so freezing cold in bed."

"Just crawl into bed."

"Yes, ma'am." He pulled back the heavy blankets and waited for Charlie to crawl in first.

"I don't want to sleep against the wall. I like the edge."

Hmmm. learned something new about Charlie Matheson. "OK." He crawled in, up against the wall, and waited for Charlie to crawl in next to him. He then pulled the covers up over them and started to snuggle in for the night when Charlie got up.

"Sorry. I need to use the little girls' room." She left the room. For some reason, her comment made him laugh. Maybe it was the whole situation of being stuck up in the mountains for the next four to six months. He got up and turned down the fire in the stove. He knew Charlie would like it hot, but he didn't want to cook alive in the room…plus, he wanted to lower the light level. Though he was pretty sure that even if the electricity was turned back on and a 1000 watt bulb was on in this room, he'd still have no trouble falling asleep. Charlie returned and he decided he would go use the facilities, too.

Upon his return, he became concerned since Charlie was pacing.

"What? What's wrong?"

Charlie stopped and looked at him questioningly. "Why? Oh. No, I just didn't want to get in and then have to turn around and get back out when you got back."

"Well, that's what you get for not wanting to sleep against the wall," he smiled at her.

Giving him a "yeah, yeah, whatever" look, they both crawled back into bed into each other's arms, but too exhausted at the moment to appreciate the hiatus they had been given from their normally painful lives for the next several months.


End file.
